Bright sunlight knocked on Finlay’s eyelids. He was lying on hard ground, arms and legs splayed. Aches plagued his body like the first time he worked the whole day at Grandpa Swaney’s farm.

Multiplied by five. Mix in some stinging bruises.

The past Finlay groaned and spewed curses. Now, he instinctively controlled his breathing while relaxing his muscles tensed from the pain. Didn’t mean he wasn’t suffering. His pain tolerance hadn’t been built up yet. Good thing he retained his mental endurance.

He opened his eyes to a small fish flapping its translucent rounded wings above his face. Its pink button of a Soulheart sparkled differently from its scales. The sky discus flew closer, curious of him.

There’s no way to avoid this, is there? He arrived on Ilaya several minutes ago and had been unconscious for the majority of it. Events followed the old script, which was a good thing. Exiting the vine archway portal straight into the territory of a bullzard, he got dropkicked and stomped by that stupid frog. A bad thing. He laughed at his sorry state.

Or tried to. Even a chuckle hurt his ribs, and he ended up coughing. It scared off the sky discus.

I should’ve taken painkillers before going through the portal. Finlay heard some boxers did that before a match. Not sure how effective that was.

The important thing was he didn’t lose the World Tree seed.

He closed his right hand tighter. His arm hurt, but he was relieved feeling a small bump inside his fist. If there was truly anything lucky about this seed, it was that he didn’t misplace it or throw it away in all his years on Ilaya. Without the seed, the World Tree wouldn’t have communicated with him and sent him back in time. It was his only possession from Earth, and he took good care of it, a reminder of the home he hoped to return to someday.

Following the trend, after the good news came the bad. The seed being Finlay’s only possession from Earth meant that, yes, he was as naked as the day he was born. No clothes, no nothing.

Why was the seed the only that remained—?

This is a different seed! The realization hit Finlay hard like the ambushing frog’s hooves.

All this time, he assumed he carried their family heirloom—the vine archway reverted to a seed and accompanied him to Ilaya, something like that. It was a magical seed; it could do whatever. He thought wrong. From his grandfather’s story, the seed that Finlay planted should be a regular tree back on Earth after the portal closed.

Where did this new seed come from then?

Voices popped Finlay’s balloon of confusion. People were nearby. The next scene of the script needed to be played out.

“Help!” He yelled at the top of his lungs. His body spasmed from the effort. Too bad he couldn’t heal himself yet.

“Hear that?” A man asked. “Where did that come from?” Heavy footsteps crunching dried leaves were coming closer.

“This way!” shouted his companion. “There’s a guy here. He’s hurt bad… and naked.” They were conversing in Angloise, the tongue of trade of the human kingdoms.

Like dwarves and elves, humans of Ilaya came from another world long ago, most likely Earth. They brought with them an oldish sort of English. It blended with the language of other races and evolved through time, retaining enough smidgen of English that Finlay could converse with some people, albeit with a lot of pointing and miming involved. Finlay became fluent in Angloise, Dagalan, Telver, and many other languages out of necessity. Learning them was a huge pain in the ass. He would’ve torn his hair out if he needed to repeat that ordeal.

“Let me take a look at him,” the first man said.

His companion laughed. “You want to take a look at a naked guy?”

“I’m going to check his injuries,” was the reply with an exasperated sigh. “This is not the time for jokes.”

“We’ll aid this stranger,” a third voice joined, low and booming. “A good deed to thank the gods for blessing our hunt.”

A gentle-faced man with round glasses knelt beside Finlay and began to examine him. Beads carved with runes secured his golden hair in a ponytail. “This looks bad.” He was the first speaker.

Finlay resisted spooking Trance by calling him his name before they introduced themselves. If Finlay’s memory served him right, Trance was a Monolinker favoring a Lumin Wisp Soulheart for his specialization as a Healer. They sparsely interacted in the previous timeline and never met again after Finlay left Worwick Town, two months from now, following Isidore, his newfound Warden master.

A man with flaming red hair and matching red eyes stood beside Trance. “That looks bad? Appears normal to me. Don’t insult him when he’s already injured.”

Cogwyn wasn’t a Soulheart Warden—Rokhonites considered sternials as an affront to nature. They socketed Soulhearts into weapons, armor, or trinkets instead of their bodies. Cogwyn should have an oddly shaped dagger attached to his hip. It had two Soulhearts on its broad curved blade, activated through a network of elderbone veins connected to the handle. The dagger was a gift from his father, Cogwyn had told Finlay. Or would tell.

Rokhonites were on the extreme end of the don’t-merge-with-Soulhearts belief system compared to Core monks. But Cogwyn was different. If he thought Trance, Beor, or any other Warden as heretics, he kept it well to himself. He was the most agreeable Rokhonite that Finlay had met. Finlay planned to ask Cogwyn to help him train wielding Adorned weapons.

“I was talking about his injuries, not that,” Trance seethed through grinding teeth.

“Honest mistake.” Cogwyn took off his cloak and placed it across laid it across Finlay’s middle section. “There. Out of sight. Now, you can concentrate on healing him.”

Finlay’s past self was ashamed of his very naked situation. But after experiencing life in war camps, plural, he had changed sensibilities. Shame was nowhere to be found during war.

“In my two decades as a trapper…” The deep voice of the third man carried a thick Sajilisan accent while speaking Angloise. “I’ve had a wide range of encounters. This is… new. Might this be an omen of good tidings? We do need one after the earth shook three days ago. The quaking earth is as rare as the torrential rains of this area. Very bad…”

A bald man with muscles on muscles shaded Finlay with his size. Golden geometric tattoos contrasted against his mahogany skin. The upper buttons of his leather vest were open to brag to the world his sternial with two sparkles. Beor was the leader of this trapper party of three. He might not look friendly, the understatement of the century, but he could be your best buddy if the topic was good luck and superstition. Finlay often saw Beor at the bar, playing dice, but didn’t talk to him much.

“Could’ve been a Great Mogloth stirring things,” said Cogwyn.

“I don’t know about the earthquake or rains,” said Trance, “but I do know this man is most absolutely not experiencing good tidings.” He held his hands over Finlay’s chest, his palms radiating light and warmth.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Tha-thank you for he-healing me,” Finlay said with much effort. The pain was beginning to subside.

Trance clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Don’t force yourself to speak. Wait for me to finish.”

“What happened to you?” Cogwyn asked.

“I just told him not to speak,” said Trance. “And you’re asking him a question?”

“Trying to be friendly, is all,” Cogwyn said. “See that smile? He thinks I’m friendly.”

“He’s grimacing from the pain. Make friends later.”

In truth, Finlay really was smiling. He’d been looking forward to meeting Cogwyn in this rewound timeline. They were good friends, brothers-in-arms who fought many battles against the Sporeal Tide. He missed Cogwyn’s juvenile humor even in the direst of situations. He’d eventually learn it was a defense mechanism of Cogwyn. Also, Finlay had a life debt to Cogwyn that he wasn’t able to repay because Cogwyn died five years ago.

Or seven years into a future that wouldn’t happen. Time travel was confusing.

When Finlay led the Orlun people through the Ironvault Mountains, Cogwyn stayed behind to stall the Sporeal Tide. Cogwyn didn’t accept any goodbyes; they’d meet again, he promised. No one believed him. Wielding two humongous swords socketed with four Soulhearts each, Cogwyn, the last Rokhonite, held Datir Pass for three days, buying time for the slow-moving train of refugees to escape.

We did end up meeting again, mused Finlay. Probably not what Cogwyn had in mind when he made that promise.

Cogwyn walked out of view. “Let me put on my inquisitor hat and expertly deduce what happened to our friend.”

“Here we go,” Trance grumbled while pressing on Finlay’s legs.

“Some barefoot human footprints here,” Cogwyn said. “On top of those are large footprints of a cloven-hoofed beast. Judging its odd stride and print impression, it hopped on two legs. The only creature that fits that description in this area is a bullzard. The disturbed soil, the broken branches of shrubs—it bunged up our friend pretty badly.”

Good thing he’s just messing around, Finlay thought. Cogwyn was an experienced trapper, skilled at examining tracks. If he looked too closely, he might wonder why Finlay’s footprints seemingly came from… nowhere.

“Then another beast came,” continued Cogwyn. “A bigger one. Three-toed with large claws, running on two feet. A predator. It chased the bullzard that way, ignoring our friend. Now, watch me figure out our mysterious predator. Feathers caught on the shrubs—”

“Stop pretending to be a genius,” said Beor. “You know damn well it was a terror bird. It still had the bullzard between its beaks when it got caught by our trap. Two decently prized Soulhearts in one swoop. A lucky day indeed.”

“Why did you expose me? I was trying to make a good impression on our friend.”

“It’s not working so far,” said Trance.

“Because you guys didn’t go along with me,” countered Cogwyn.

Finlay laughed, not minding the mild ache gnawing his side. This was so nostalgic. After all, this part was a replay of the past.

“Hey, at least I made our friend happy despite his pain,” said Cogwyn. “There’s an old saying in our clan that supposedly came from the world yonder: laughter is the best medicine. And it works! Maybe I should get my own Healer’s hat.”

“A clown Healer?” Beor gruffly quipped. “I’d rather bet on a groff learning to fly.”

“Sir, can you sit up?” Trance tucked an arm beneath Finlay’s back and helped him into a sitting position. “I didn’t detect any major fractures. Praise be to the Firstborns. I’ve sped up your body’s natural regeneration. It’ll last a few days and aid your recovery. How are you feeling?”

Trance had impressive control of his anima for a Monolinker. A Lumin Wisp Soulheart was of Advanced Grade. Most Wardens would be a Dualinker by the time they could comfortably manipulate an Advanced-Grade Soulheart.

“Still stiff and in pain,” Finlay replied. “But manageable. I think I can walk.” He made a mental note to always have a healing Soulheart someday, even if it meant sacrificing combat power. He didn’t forget that he couldn’t do anything to help Tavri and the goatkin Caretaker of the World Tree. If he had an Adept Grade Evermoss Soulheart, he could’ve restored both of them to full health within seconds.

“I’m surprised how well you’re enduring,” said Trance. “Others would’ve been writhing or even gone unconscious. For a moment, I was worried you were paralyzed.” He patted Finlay’s shoulders. “Don’t engage in any strenuous physical activities for the next couple of weeks or so. If unavoidable, take plenty of rest in between.”

“Thank you again,” said Finlay. He knew he couldn’t follow the doctor’s advice to take it easy. Plenty of hiking and climbing was lined up on his to-do list. “I’m afraid I can’t pay for your services.” He gestured to his body. “I don’t have anything on me.”

“Except my cloak,” said Cogwyn. “But don’t remove that.”

“There’s no need to pay me,” Trance said.

Cogwyn jerked back with noticeably fake shock. “Is that charity I hear? Preposterous! Aren’t you allergic to charity?”

“It’s apparent this man can’t pay me now,” replied Trance. “I can’t spare time chasing him around to collect. This is my once-in-a-red-sun charity.”

“I think you’re confusing what charity means,” said Cogwyn.

“Don’t ruin our luck by charging him,” said Bero. “He led the bullzard and terror bird to us. Now, strange stranger, share your tale. Why are you naked in this forest?”

“I… I can’t remember much. I was traveling from… Elmbow, I think?” Finlay held the sides of his head, pretending to have a migraine.

The past him barely understood the trio and was as confused as a fish on a plate after arriving in a new world. In turn, the trio thought Finlay had gone insane because of a head injury. Trance couldn’t heal the mind, he explained then. Cogwyn tried to communicate with Finlay by drawing on the soil, to no avail. As for Beor, he thought helping Finlay would bring more luck, so he tied him up and surrendered him to the constable of Worwick.

A bad start, but it could’ve turned out much worse. Finlay could’ve met actual bandits and his story would’ve been cut short. Wherever this new World Tree seed came from, it did seem to have lucky charm properties.

The constable assumed Finlay was a noble or son of a rich merchant, given his untanned skin, soft hands, and haircut. Finlay hadn’t worked at the farm long enough to become more like a commoner of Ilaya. It was just on weekends, and he was refrigerated the rest of the time inside the office. His height, however, made him look striking enough that people thought he had a heroic ancestor. Apothecaries fed him all sorts of potions to ‘restore’ his mind. When that didn’t work, he was handed over to the priests for prayer sessions.

Finlay would rather eat bark again than repeat all of that, and he didn’t want to eat bark. He had the perfect backstory to explain his situation.

“Yes, I’m Finlay Rasband of Elmbow,” he confidently said, giving a fairly far away location but still in Gilders. “That much I can recall. Where I was going? To Worwick. And then, I… I was attacked!” He shut his eyes as if he was concentrating. “Armed men stole everything I had.”

“Must’ve been the bandits,” said Cogwyn.

“I thought this forest is safe,” Finlay said. “I haven’t heard of bandits in these parts.”

“Moved in recently,” Cogwyn explained. “A few months ago, maybe? They’ve taken up residence in the abandoned Speckle mines, some ways away from here.”

“The Gilderian princeps ordered the lords bickering over Worwick to pull back their forces,” Trance said. “This is the result—bandits came. It seems they’ve become bolder if they extended their hunting grounds to here.”

“Probably got scared by the quakes and left the mines,” Cogwyn guessed.

“Bandits and a bullzard?” Beor snapped his fingers. “Finlay Rasband the No Longer Stranger, your luck must’ve migrated to us. That’s the only explanation.”

“I bet you’re right,” Finlay said, sighing. “Now, you’re telling me that my destination has lords fighting over it?”

“It’s not so bad,” said Cogwyn. “They’ve relaxed after the princeps stepped in.”

“You’re still quite the unlucky man,” said Beor. “However, you have leftover luck seeing as the bandits and bullzard didn’t kill you. We’ll accompany you to town lest bad fortune succeeds in doing so.”

“Report the bandits to the constable,” Trance said. “They’ll take action. The town festival draws near. The officials wouldn’t want issues like this with so many important people coming.”

“The festival…” Finlay slowly nodded. “Yes, it’s coming back to me now. I’m here for the festival, and I got robbed. I’m very grateful for your help. May I know your names?”

“Right, we haven’t introduced ourselves. The name’s Cogwyn. Cogwyn the Rokhonite, if my hair and eyes didn’t already gave it away.”

“I’m Trance Halrod of Morwen,” he said, giving a slight bow.

“And I am Beor Sarik A’tun of Sajilis. Come, Finlay the Luck Giver. Do you want to see the bullzard that made you sleep?”